Pete's tirade completely flustered Johnson. "All the same, what I said's so." Pete snorted again. "When d'you think you're livin'? You make me tired, Johnson. Go push yourself off the roof!" The two last columns rose swinging above the chasm's brink, and there was no more talk for that afternoon. For the next hour the men were busy setting the last of the columns which were to support the twenty-second and twenty-third stories. Then they began setting in the cross beams, walking about on these five-inch beams (perhaps on one with the pavement straight beneath it) with the matter-of-fact steps of a man on the sidewalk--a circus act, lacking a safety net below, and lacking flourishes and kisses blown to a thrilled audience. Chapter II THE WALKING DELEGATE It was toward the latter part of the afternoon that a tall, angular man, in a black overcoat and a derby hat, stepped from the ladder on to the loose planking, glanced about and walked over to the gang of men about the south crane. "Hello, Buck," they called out on sight of him. "Hello, boys," he answered carelessly. He stood, with hands in the pockets of his overcoat, smoking his cigar, watching the crane accurately swing a beam to its place, and a couple of men run along it and bolt it at each end to the columns. He had a face to hold one's look--lean and long: gray, quick eyes, set close together; high cheek bones, with the dull polish of bronze; a thin nose, with a vulturous droop; a wide tight mouth; a great bone of a chin;--a daring, incisive, masterful face. When the beam had been bolted to its place, Barry, with a reluctance he tried to conceal, walked over to Foley. "How's things?" asked the new-comer, rolling his cigar into the corner of his mouth and slipping his words out between barely parted lips. Barry was the steward on the job,--the union's representative. "Two snakes come on the job this mornin'," he reported. "Them two over there,--that Squarehead an' that Guinea. I was goin' to write you a postal card about 'em to-night." "Who put 'em to work?" "They said Duffy, Driscoll's superintendent." Foley grunted, and his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the two non-union men. "When the boys seen they had no cards, o' course they said they wouldn't work with the scabs. But I said we'd stand 'em to-day, an' let you straighten it out to-morrow." "We'll fix it now." The walking delegate, with deliberate steps, moved toward the two men, who were sitting astride an outside beam fitting in bolts. He paused beside the Italian. "Clear out!" he ordered quietly. He did not take his hands from his pockets. The Italian looked up, and without answer doggedly resumed twisting a nut.